


Allurement

by Ahimsah333



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark John, Dark Sherlock, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Serial Killer, Serial Killer John, attempted suicide, but it doesn't actually happen, dark!Sherlock, dark!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahimsah333/pseuds/Ahimsah333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unable to readjust to civilian life after the fall, John falls into a spiral of depression.  Reluctant to accept his friends death and convinced his best friend is still alive out there somewhere he devises a ruse to lure him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Allurement

**Author's Note:**

> Characters don't belong to me blah blah blah.
> 
> This is going to be my first proper big work so bare with me, I am a new writer and I just had to get this story out of my system. Hope its good :/ errm Enjoy? :)

JUST A QUICK THING! TW FOR SUICIDE!  
  
Thanks for actually taking the time to read this, I'm hoping to make this a nice long fic with lots of plot and eventual Johnlock.  This chapter got a bit deeper than I intended it too but the breakdown is kind of important to the introduction of the plot SORRY! I am evil I know I never meant to make it so...angsty! AAH I am real sorry, Gaah!.  Will get working on the Chapter as soon as I can and hopefully we can get into the swing of things :). This is kind of a short chapter but hopefully the next one will be longer when I get things going properly.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
John sat in the dark flat, kneeling on the floor, head in hands, scattered breaths, shaking hands, the tears that wouldn't stop dripped from his palms trailing lazily onto the back of his hand. He could no longer hold it together, and god knows he had tried.  At first he would wait patiently for the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes to come bursting though the door, it would hardly be a surprise.  But the days, weeks, months drew by and slowly hope faded.  So many times he had thought about it.  Ending it all.  The first time he found himself staring down a bottle pills but that small glimmer of hope changed his mind. No, Don't do this, he WILL come back for you.

Ten minutes earlier John sat at the kitchen table equipped with pen and paper. His hands shook and he could hardly see through the tears in his eyes. John Watson, the man who had used his fingers to pull the trigger on a gun to end a mans life now could not even use those same hands to put pen to paper. The pen feels heavy like a lead weight in his hand.

  
 _My dear Sherlock_  
  
  
The sound of the pen scraping on the paper seemed amplified against the deathly silence of the flat, the noise went strait to Johns Stomach reminding him of the nausea that churned inside him.  Oh god that sickening feeling that grinded against the heavy anger and tension that grew in his chest fueled by the incessant buzz of his mind which wouldn't switch off.  Is that how it felt to have Sherlock's mind he wondered. His whole body ached under the heavy sadness.  He shut his eyes tight letting go of the raw emotion coursing through his body, a tear landed on the page in front of him smudging the words on the paper, but it didn't matter anyway after all Sherlock was gone, he wasn't going to read this. No. NO don't think like this now.  John chastised himself, the thoughts of his dear friends return sneaking their way back into his head.  Sherlock is gone.  Its time to bloody well accept that.  
  
 _I waited for you to come back, I did, I really tried.  Everyday I woke up hanging onto the threadbare hope that you would come home, but that hope is fading.  People have stopped talking about it now, stopped talking about you.  How could they?  You were an amazing man, unlike anyone I have ever met, everything you did, everything you could do with your mind, I will never stop believing it, believing in you.  No one will ever convince you told me a lie Sherlock, I knew you.  But I don't understand this.  Why did you do it Sherlock?   You're so damned selfish, how could you not see what this would do to me.  I'm sorry, perhaps it was my fault for never making it clear enough, but, now you're gone I have nothing to loose, because that's all I was ever afraid of. Loosing you.  
  
_ John Took a deep shaky breath and wiped away the tears from his stinging eyes and rested his forehead against his hands.  How to say it.  I love you?  Those words sound strange, almost foreign, especially for the intended recipient. They sounded weak, feeble, raw.  He rummaged around in his head for other ways to word it.  
  
 _I love you Sherlock.  Even now you're gone those words still feel so foreign to me.  I'm ashamed of how I acted when people made that mistake about what we were, I was defensive.  I can only hope you deduced that. I was so confused.  Before I couldn't even imagine saying those words to you.  I can only imagine the way you would probably screw up your face and call me a fool, give me that talk about sentiment and disadvantage before you leave.  In my head however I try not to think of it like that, I try to imagine it how I would have wanted it to go.  Whatever helps me sleep at night I guess.  
  
_ _Well there, I said it, I got the words out eventually.  I love you, I love you, I really rea...  
  
_ John let out a sound of pure anger as he trashed his fists down onto the table, stabbing the pen into the wood.  He scraped the pen through the wood adding to scrapes and scuffs left previously by his flatmates pestiferous experiments. How could he have been so selfish.  He thought back those accidental touches when their hands would brush, when Sherlock would stand far to close, invading his personal space, the way he would hover over his shoulder, all those stares, the eye contact that lasted far too long.  How could he have been so blind to it all.  Or perhaps he was over analyzing everything in his mind, making it all up in his sick, twisted, pathetic little mind.  
  
 _I mean it Sherlock and I will never take those words back And if you're not coming back home to me then I'm coming to you.  
  
_ _See you soon mate.  
  
_ _John Hamish Watson._

  
Putting the words onto paper seemed to have lifted part of the weight that sat on his shoulders. He picked up the note and laid it beside him as he kneeled on the floor of the lounge.  He took a few moments in the dark flat to reconcile with himself.  He reached out in the direction of the coffee table grabbing for the item he placed there earlier.  His fingers trembled against the cold metal nudging it causing it to fall to the floor, he retrieved the gun and held it close to his body embracing the item as if it was about to do him a favour.  He took a deep breath that caught in his throat.  
  
"I'm coming to you Sherlock" it was merely a raspy whisper between stuttered breaths.  
  
"I love you"  He placed the cold metal barrel against his lips, his hands trembled now worse then they ever did before, hes breathing was erratic.  He closed his eyes shut tight and braced himself as his finger squeezed the trigger.  
  
  
 _Click._  
  
  
He drew in a sharp breath and opened his eyes wide staring into the dim room is disbelief.  Blank.  He hadn't unloaded it, then it him, Maybe Sherlock did it before he took the fall.  Maybe he did know what this would do to John, Perhaps he could foresee what John would do.   _He bloody well KNEW! HE WHAT THIS WOULD DO TO ME!_  He stared at the weapon in his hand accusingly before launching it at the wall by the smiley face leaving a chip.

"Bastard! How could you!"  
  
He raised his hands to his face, oh god what was going on, he thought about loading the gun but he knew he couldn't muster up the courage again, that intense fear, the moment had gone. He was still here, alive.  He couldn't even take the cowards way out he thought to himself. Trying to reason with himself he thought, ive hit rock bottom I can't get any lower than this.  It can only get better from here and then slowly those thoughts creeped back in. He can't be gone, and then part of him felt relieved that gun was unloaded.  He thought up the Romeo and Juliet Scenario in his head.  What if Sherlock found him dead, what if Sherlock was still alive and that gun had been loaded.  What would Sherlock do?  
  
"Please...please. Come back. Sher, Sherlock please"  His broken pleas filled the room with his silent cries.  His whole body shook violently.  He had been so close, so close to peace, close to Sherlock.   
  
"I'll do anything, just please,for me. Anything, right or wrong, anything you asked I'd do it Sherlock."  
  
 _Anything._


End file.
